


Home Makeover

by timeheist



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/timeheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You expect me to believe that this was all dear, sweet Lucy’s idea?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Makeover

“What have you done to my hair?!”

The Doctor ran his trussed hair through his fingers, bunching it into both hands, lifting it, and letting it drop again. He looked positively ridiculous with bleached blond hair and they both knew it, only one of them was refusing to admit to it. Just what Lucy Saxon thought she would achieve here was beyond him, but then why Lucy would have sought him out after the High Court defied both Torchwood and UNIT to find her innocent was too. So was the fact that she had been able to get her hands on another gun, with a criminal record, in order to threaten him into a room where she’d tranquillised him and cuffed one of his ankles nice and securely to the bed. Yes, she’d fed him and let him shower in the en suite, but up until now he’d been too confused to argue back for the past week, and he certainly hadn’t expected to wake up and realise he’d worked up quite a stubble and she’d dyed that while he slept too. And taken away his blue suit the second he’d stepped into the shower, leaving him with a collection of new clothes that she insisted he had to wear, or wear nothing at all. Honestly, all this just felt too surreal and he was pretty certain that either one or both of them had gone completely insane.

Lucy didn’t answer. She never did, hadn’t seemed to have forgiven him yet for letting The Master die and not stepping in to save her from the police and the even more dangerous press. He’d been in mourning at the time, wandering listlessly around time and space until Donna had come back into his life, and by the time he had begun to feel guilty about Lucy it was several months too late. Hence, and he could see her point of view, during whatever it was she was planning by now, she had refused to accept any of the – if he’d kept count right – seventy nine apologies he’d tried to give. Lucy only spoke to him when she had to tell him to do something, or pass on some sort of set of instructions she had for him, and the only question that she’d even begun to answer at all was the one of ‘am I allowed to have a shower, Lucy?’. But since she clearly had some motive that he was supposed to be guessing at but hadn’t the faintest clue about, he rather thought that an answer would be in her best interests as well.

So he turned his interest to the black and red clothes, eyes still wide with horror at the travesty that was his new hairdo, and things started to make that little bit more sense. A black hoodie, tight at the neck, stopping at the waistline; a bright red t-shirt, blood red and just a little bit longer than the hooded shirt; black trousers, loose, comfort over form and any particular style. It was the kind of outfit that would look good on a certain type of person, but probably not too great on a skinny man with a tendency for casual suits… The Doctor was stood (shivering) in red boxer shorts nicely coincidentally, and he had a sinking suspicion that Lucy still loved her husband, or at the very least the idea of him. Perhaps the idea of a Time Lord – two hearts, colder blood temperature, telepathic abilities which made romancing so much more than it was in the human sense. It was probably appealing, The Doctor supposed, if it was different to what you were used to. But The Doctor had only seen the newly resurrected Master once, and he could already immediately tell who it was he was meant to look like.

He wrinkled his nose, and looked at her sympathetically, then sighed and pulled on all the clothes with some reluctance. He could almost say he’d seen a smile, and offered one back weakly, torn between previous anger at being imprisoned and his natural urge to help and comfort someone in need. Lucy was someone in need; she was obviously sick, confused, and needing help from him. And the last thought might have been selfish, but if he could figure out exactly what it was that she wanted, and then she might be happier and let him go back to his TARDIS and life in time and space. Being chained to a bed was making him claustrophobic all over again. “Lucy… You do know I’m not The Master, don’t you? I…” he trailed off with surprise as a hand snaked under his shirt and cologne was sprayed on his chest, embarrassed. “I miss him too but you can’t cope like this.”

But at The Master’s name a light seemed to turn on behind the empty and glazed look in Lucy’s eyes, and before The Doctor could move or check on what had happened to change the mood in the room she was standing on tiptoes and nuzzling her face into his neck, her blond hair pinned up in half a bun. She kissed him, and The Doctor let one of his hands drop from his bleached hair to try and push her away, but she whimpered and he didn’t have the hearts to anymore. Absently, terribly guilty for destroying her world and not willing to do so again, he patted her awkwardly on the shoulders, and Lucy gave a happy shiver. “Oh, Harry…” The Doctor winced, then sat down on the bed and pulled her into his lap, stroking her hair and doing his best to sound like he thought The Master would. It had been quite some time since he’d been in Lucy’s position; frankly, it was no easy feat…

***

A few days had passed, and The Doctor had subtly worked out what was time; he’d remembered that The Master’s idea of romance, be it sex or otherwise, involved telepathy and had used that to brush over the synapses that controlled shock and damage, hoping to source them and maybe undo them. When Lucy had tried to stop The Master from coming back to life she had survived the resulting explosion with minimal damage, but had hit her head in the process, and or gone into shock, he couldn’t tell which that was. At first he’d tried to fix her mind, convince her that he wasn’t who she was treating him as and that she had to stop for her own sake, but over time (and several escape attempts, one of which had involved an attempt to mail himself to Torchwood under the guise of a Christmas hamper) he’d begun to find similar comfort.

By now, he had agreed to sleeping beside her, every night, and wearing only his boxers. He was even holding her closer to him while they slept like a favourite soft toy or a hot water bottle. They’d made love one night too, and it hadn’t been as uncomfortable as he’d first thought it would be, even if it was The Master’s name that she’d moaned in the middle. Lucy was sweet, sensitive when The Master wasn’t manipulating her into being someone just right for him, and he had genuinely wanted to make her happy. Honestly, he didn’t know how he felt anymore, he just knew that it was good for them both, but somehow not quite right to do. She wasn’t in her right mind; he shouldn’t have been doing this even if it was to help her.

And so he’d called in the help of the only person he knew would have any luck at all, sneaking out of the bed to make the call from his TARDIS. When he’d gotten back he’d had to dodge various household items which had been thrown at his head by Lucy in the belief that he’d run off and left her, but he’d calmed her down and help was now, definitely, on it’s way. Of course, help has also been tricky to both arrange and negotiate, but The Doctor didn’t know how long he could keep the façade up before he did something he would regret. It wasn’t fair to Lucy either, he had to admit, since he was sure that neither of them had truly forgiven the other their ‘crimes’ yet. The deal he’d had to make he could handle – he doubted that anyone else but him could. It was just as The Doctor had fallen asleep again that help stormed furiously into the room and poked him roughly in the base of his ribcage with an annoyed snarl.

“What are you doing with my wife, Doctor?!”

The Doctor looked up suddenly, hissing in slight annoyance, and then let his face relax into a calm sigh. “Master. I can explain, Lucy – “

“You expect me to believe that this was all dear, sweet Lucy’s idea?” Snapped The Master, lip curling. “You’re stupider than you look, Doctor. Out, out, get out!” He flapped his arms as though shooing away a stray animal, briefly appraising his nemesis’ body, then took the hurriedly vacated spot beside Lucy, kicking off his shoes. Holding her to his chest possessively, kissing her forehead, he then let out a breath long held in and turned his head to face The Doctor and his moan of jealousy. “You’re excused, Doctor.”

“But - !”

“No buts.” He paused, and giggled. “Not your butt, anyway. Maybe later.” Clearing his throat and getting undressed, The Master continued. “I know exactly what happened. Your Captain Jack saw you leave Cardiff with dear Lucy and he thought I was involved. I knew Lucy was desperately weak,” he looked at her fondly, suggesting otherwise, and The Doctor began to wonder if The Master really had loved Lucy after all and hummed irritably. He was his Koschei… “But I didn’t know you were too, Doctor.” He smirked, and The Doctor blushed, clenching and unclenching a tight fist.

“Right, then. I’ll be off.”

“Good! Good, good, good!” The Master closed his eyes as The Doctor pulled his own clothes back on and made for the door with a roll of his eyes. It would’ve been a long walk back to London if it weren’t for his TARDIS. As The Master coughed pointedly, The Doctor turned in the doorframe, a confused look brushing across his face like ink on a watercolour. The Master didn’t even open his eyes, but his smirk widened.

“Doctor, what have you done to your hair?”


End file.
